You, Me, Us, Them
by Sangri Star
Summary: Rebels and Agents have been at war for as long as most of them can remember. And though there is a harsh reality to how they act, they are not all cruel deep inside their souls. Yes, even Agents can have souls.
1. William and Paula

The Rebels William Rose, also known as "Acid" and Paula Menanoa, also known as "Shock" were plugged into the Matrix, like it was a normal day. The atmosphere was beautiful, with a sky as blue as a Siamese cat's eye and grass as green as the code they were used to seeing. Everything was perfect. They sat under the shade of a tree, philosophizing and talking about their lives before they were freed. There was an occasional kiss now and then. Ever since they had met on the ship _Uniteus_, they had fallen in love. William stroked Paula's golden locks as she lay against him in the grass. Life was so peaceful.

Out of the corner of her eye, however, Paula saw someone on the street change. Not like they were changing their clothes, more like they were morphing into someone else. And to her horror, she discovered that it was an Agent. She told William what she saw. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the ship. Wave, the ship's operator, answered. William alerted him about the Agent, and Wave directed to the nearest exit – a phone in a pizzeria four blocks away.

William and Paula stood up and tried to move without being seen by the Agent. They were not successful. He apparently had been sent to kill them. They had foolishly gone into the Matrix and without guns and remained without them throughout their visit. Now they really needed weapons, and they had none.

They ran hand in hand to their destination with the Agent hot on their trail. One block had passed, and Paula yelled, "Oh Will, I hope we can make it!" And William replied, "We will, I know we will." There was a construction site going on ahead, but they ran right through. They couldn't afford to make a detour.

Two blocks down. They thought they had lost the Agent, they couldn't see him anymore. They continued their pace, though.

Three blocks down. They were wrong about the Agent. He had gained on them. He was closer than ever before, and he started firing his first shots at them. William could see the Mama Lorena's Pizzeria getting closer. All they had to do was get inside and answer the phone.

Last block down. William and Paula were nearer to their goal. They opened up the pizzeria's door, and a bell jingled as they ran inside. William's hand was almost touching the pay phone that was ringing when a shot rang out. He watched as Paula dropped to her knees on the black-and-white checked tile floor. The Agent had shot her in her back, and her blood spilled out. She gasped for air. William ignored the phone and put his arms out to her. Paula choked, "Please, Will, answer the phone. Save yourself."

"I could not live without you, Paula, I just couldn't. I love you so much."

"I know, William. I love you too."

The Agent stood at the doorway, watching this scene. He had paused for a moment such as this to happen. He had seen it many times before he had killed. Waterfalls of tears, confessions of love, last words. He had seen it all before. The owners of the pizzeria gaped at the scene, but their memories of the killing would be erased, as it had happened numerous times before.

Time was up. The Agent walked up to Paula and placed the gun to her upper back and fired. The bullet went through her heart and she fell limp in William's arms. He sobbed and kept repeating her name. He forgot all about the phone ringing and going back to the real world. He just wouldn't be the same if he went back. He hated the cold, harsh reality that Paula was dead.

The Agent placed his gun to William's temple. William looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and blotchy cheeks. He whispered, "Why did it have to be her? Such a wasted beauty... But I'm not afraid. Please, kill me. I want to be with the one I love." He closed his eyes and looked downward. The Agent pulled the trigger back and placed a bullet in William's brain. William collapsed on the floor.

And with a final glance at the gruesome scene with blood spattered on the white walls and black-and-white checked tile floor, and the two Rebel lovers lying dead on it, the Agent pocketed his gun. He turned away and walked out the door, the bell jingling.


	2. Agent Jones

My name is Jones. My name is just Jones, and I am known by that only. I am an Agent. I work in the Matrix hunting down the Rebels. I either capture them or kill them. I work with my associates to make sure that everything is stable in the Matrix.

It didn't used to be like this, I know that. There was a time before where these humans used to live like they do now. Only that it wasn't the Matrix, it wasn't a computer program. People were, how you would call it, free.

People created robots, artificial intelligence. They were advanced. But I supposed they got too ahead of themselves. Egos were large and plenty. From cell phones to androids, the humans took advantage of technology. If they didn't have their gadgets, they would never survive. They wouldn't be able to remember life like it was in the pioneer times or anything. They would all die out, I guarantee.

But the humans took too many benefits from robots. They made them their slaves, doing their dirty work or tasks that were too tedious for them. The actions of the humans were disgusting. Who began the war was one robot. The robot B1GG3R rose up against his possessors and murdered them. He was eliminated for what he had done, and the humans realized they could not trust the robots anymore.

So many horrific crimes were committed. Robots slaughtering humans, humans doing the same to robots. There were a select few that could actually stay out of the war that did not want to fight. They wanted to make peace. At least someone in the world did. Yes, I did find that the humans were particular nasty creatures for doing this to the robots, but I felt that some how everything would be balanced out.

As their solution, the humans foolishly blocked out the sun. They thought that would stop the robots since the sun supplied them with power. Well, the sun also supplied the humans. The sun helped grow their crops, keep them warm, and give them solar power. But with the blocking of the sun, their crops died, they were cold, and they only had electricity to depend on if the robots didn't cut that off from them.

The humans were dying off quickly because of their mistake. There were only just enough people to dig graves for the dead. It was truly a sight. But the robots began testing on humans they had captured, and discovered that they could give the humans an illusion of their real world, and the robots could get the strongest of energy from the human bodies, grown in fields. Everyone would be pleased.

One day was all it took to take power, and all the humans could live their life as it was before the war between man and machine. The program that controlled the humans was called the Matrix. The first version was supposed to be perfect, and all the humans would live in a wonderful utopia. However, it was too perfect, and entire crops of humans were lost. Everyone was miserable.

Of course, this Matrix isn't the second form. There have been plenty more versions of the Matrix. Everything does a loop, a sort of déjà vu. A Rebel that is destined as "The One" is born inside the Matrix. He is freed, and he is the hope for the Rebels to defeat the machines. They've never been quite successful. They have gotten close, but not successful. The Matrix is, in a sense, rebooted and reformed. The cycle begins again, it is never ending. The Agents change all the time, too. We have the same purpose, which is to regulate the Matrix and eliminate the Rebels. We become stronger when we change, and sometimes our appearance does too. I once had red hair and brown eyes before it was decided all Agents would look nearly the same. They would only have different names and different statures. And Agent Smith is the only one with blue eyes. Well, that is because he is special. He was programmed to be stronger than all the other Agents, to be a leader, the most feared.

The cycle is almost up. In a few days, the Matrix will be restarted. I am not supposed to think for myself or at least that often, but I wonder what will be different in this new Matrix. Will there be a day when the humans can defeat us? If I was to mention that to any of my cohorts, they would call me dim-witted. "Of course not!" they would say. "We, as programs, are superior to them! How foolish it is to think of that! That would never happen!"

But I believe, someday, it might happen. Someday we might fall to our knees at the mercy of a human. And when it does, I shall not have any fear, for programs like us do not fear like humans do. I shall be ready.


	3. Agent Jackson

Agent Jackson, that is what am known as. I hunt down those Rebels and I make them pay for trying to overcome us. I make them realize who is in charge, who really is far greater. The people who have not escaped the Matrix yet, I pay them no mind. That is, unless they have been contacted by a Rebel. Then, I make sure that they don't leave the Matrix. It is better to prevent them from doing so. It is even better to kill a Rebel before they make contact. Of course, I must be very quick to accomplish that.

That is my job, a killing machine. I make the Rebels scream, I make them run. I cannot help but smile when I see them flee. Even though I am not to know that foreign feeling of happiness that the humans have, I like to believe I know how it is when I know I am going to pin a Rebel down. I can run faster, last longer, and never give up on my search for them. They can run, but they cannot hide from me.

In all my time being an Agent, I have seen gallons of blood spilled. I close my eyes and hear any single scream I have heard by someone before I killed them. I treasure the appearance of a human recoiling in fear right before I take them down, their skin pale, and their eyes wide open. If only they knew how much I fed off of the thought of killing them all.

All those filthy humans, the scum of the earth. I could kill them all if I could have enough bullets. I don't actually care whether they are white, black, Asian, Indian, Jewish, anything. I'd kill them all. This world should only be made up of one type of being – a being of metal.

Sure, in the Matrix I am just a program, but in the real world, I am a machine.

And if I had the chance, they would all be dead.

To a human or one of those machines who have a soft spot for humans, that statement might sound cruel. But it has happened before. I've read the history of humans. Back many, many years ago, there was a man named Adolph Hitler. He sent people of Jewish decent to something called a concentration camp. He slaughtered those Jews, and people in the rest of the world didn't know. I could probably do the same.

Mass genocide...

If only I could find a way, I could do the same! Their blood running thick in the rivers of this dark, cold world! It is such a wonderful dream!

Run, you little rebels. Run in fear of me, Agent Jackson. But I will find you.


	4. Lydia

I am Lydia, but my name does not matter. I am a Rebel, and that is all they want to know. "They," as in the Agents. If you are still hooked into the Matrix and you do not know the truth, they don't bother with you. If you're a Rebel, on the other hand, they'll track you down. They want to prevent us from freeing people.

The people must know, though. Their bodies are being grown, their minds manipulated. It is my mission to take that blindfold from their eyes.

The Agents are very good, though. Of course they are, they are programs. They aren't told to do or think anything else except kill. Kill, kill, KILL. We've lost thousands of Rebels to them. I admit it, they are too strong for us. But we have determination. They cannot knock us into submission, for we shall come back with a vengeance.

I detest the Agents for what they have done. You see, I once cared for a man. He set me free, physically, mentally, spiritually. His name was Greg. We met on our ship, the _Odysseus_. We loved each other. Not romantically, but as family. Even though we weren't biologically family, we referred to each other as brother and sister. I always thought of Greg as my older brother, with his tall stature, shaggy brown hair and sparkly green eyes. He always protected me, he was always so strong.

We were in the Matrix one day. We had gone to find someone. We were supposed to free the person. But we didn't get that far. It seems that immediately after we entered the Matrix, we were pursued by Agents. We ran down the streets and led them on until we found ourselves in a bad situation. The Agents were going to catch up, and our only way out was to go down into the sewers and move through the tunnels until we got closer to the exit. We couldn't get that far on the surface. We were navigating through the stench-swamped passageways when we heard the footsteps of the reapers. They sounded like they were walking slowly, while we were scrambling to get our minds together.

_Did we go left? Did we go right? Did we pass this bit of graffiti before? I think I remember this. _That's what we thought. Greg finally found a manhole that we could escape through. He climbed up the ladder and pushed away the cover. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up with him. He said, "Lyd, let me push you up." He always liked calling me 'Lyd'. I accepted and he hoisted me up. I crawled onto the pavement and turned around to reach for him. He reached for me, and I reached for him. In that instant, I saw them. The Agents had caught up.

They didn't say anything. Greg didn't know they were right behind him, and they riddled him with bullets. I didn't hear the gunshots, I didn't see them. I just knew they had hit their mark, for Greg's eyes were large and his mouth was open in a daze. I thought I saw his lips moving, saying, "I love you, Lydia." He began to fall back. I seized his wrist, but it was limp and his body was heavy. I began to slip, to fall back into the hole. I didn't want to let go. I knew they would get me too if I didn't hurry, and I knew Greg wouldn't want that. He would want me to survive.

I let him fall, and I got to my feet. With tears streaming from my eyes, I sprinted to the exit. I escaped the Matrix.

When I got back to the ship, I was wounded. Not physically, but emotionally. Greg was the only one who was really concerned for me out of anyone I knew. I felt empty. The rest of the crew knew about the relationship that Greg and I had, and they let me stay in my room for however long I needed to. They knew I needed to heal.

But I'm still not entirely healed.

I know this: We are all rabbits, white rabbits with nowhere to hide.

I have tried over and over to forget Greg's death, but I cannot. There has never been anyone else like him in my life. I am alone.

Each time I am in the Matrix and I encounter an Agent, I am told to run. Run away, find an exit. There's an exit near you, I hear from the operator. Run, run. I do what I am told, and I find that exit, I find that little hole in the wall and I climb through.

I cannot do this forever. I don't want to do this forever. I want to be able to stay still, to stand up to an Agent. I want to say, "Hello. I am Lydia Harper. You killed my brother." Not that the Agent would care. I wish they could feel pain and emotion, though. I want to take from them what they have taken from me, at any cost.


	5. Agent Brown

Choice. Choice is an illusion for these people plugged into the Matrix. It is not just an illusion for them, but an illusion for Agents like me as well. I am called Agent Brown, but that can't for sure be my real name. That name was chosen for me.

Everyone thinks they have a choice. I can either stay or I can go, but no matter what I think I choose, it's never my choice. I can either hold a gun up to the head of a Rebel and kill them, or I can lower it and let them go. But it is never my choice.

Each decision has its positive aspects and negative aspects. For example, If the Matrix was destroyed, the humans and robots might be able to join together as one. There could be peace. There wouldn't be anything to hide the humans from. But, the real world is already mangled. No human could live there, and in fact, when the Matrix was torn down, they would be so confused. They wouldn't know how to react to this new revelation – their world is not their world.

And no matter what, tensions would still be high between man and machine.

And without the Matrix, there would be no purpose for Agents. I would have to disappear completely.

No matter what, though, the choice that is made is not a human choice.

Fate. It is the thing that binds everyone together. We are not brought together by love, hate, loneliness, depression, or anger. It is fate. When one is born, or created, fate has already chosen the future for it. Sometimes, fate works before one is born.

Some know their fate. I do not. But if I knew, if I tried to turn the tables, I would end up the same way anyway. Is it exile that fate has chosen for me? Is it persecution? I do not know. But the choice is not my choice. Someday, though, fate will use its fickle fingers, and I will be gone. I will not live forever. Nothing lives forever.

And if you seek revenge on another, don't act. Wait. For justice will be served and that person will be punished for what they have done wrong. As I say this, though, I think: Do I mean myself? Am I the one who is doing wrong? I think I am, but I cannot discuss this with anyone else. It would be criminal. "Thinking like a human," they'd say. Would I be shunned?

I know I am wrong. I should not kill humans, but I am forced to. I am made to. But I know I shouldn't.

Now, I promise myself. Now, each time I kill a human, I am going to pray to some nonexistent deity, like the humans in the past did. Like the humans in the Matrix do now. Maybe it would make me feel better if I was pious. Maybe I would be forgiven for this 'sins' and I would feel like I wasn't so horrible.

I worry what the others think if they found out. It is wrong for someone like me to pray, to believe. To think.

Whatever future that fate has in store for me, I am fearless.

Look to the skies. My fate is written in the fabricated stars above.


	6. Agent Thompson

If you've been in the Matrix long enough, you begin to become so used to things that you don't bother to stop and pay attention to them. Although I know that I, as an Agent, Thompson, am not authorized to stop and rest. I don't even need to rest, because I am a program. When I do get some time, I do like to relax, possibly think like a human. I go out to a place where I feel that I will not be reached. Maybe a mountain peak, maybe a beach of white sand, maybe a boat out in the middle of the ocean. The options are endless.

My favorite place, though, would have to be a little forest I have found. I like to sit under the canopy of trees and admire the wildlife that the humans enjoyed so very long ago when they were real. But they took it for granted. They thought, "These forests and beaches and mountains and valleys will be here tomorrow and forever after that. I don't need to go outside today." They were wrong. Nowadays, they only think that these things are here because of the Matrix. The real wildlife has died off. The real world is endlessly gray and depressing. There is no sun, for they blocked it out. Pollution has found its way everywhere. All the animals that once roamed the earth are extinct.

I sit in my forest and I wonder about life, or life as it is called but it is not life. I can hear little creatures scuttling in the underbrush. Is it a chipmunk, a squirrel, a rabbit? I do not know, for they stay away. They are afraid.

A butterfly flutters past me. Butterflies are beautiful, with their brilliant colored patterns. Sometimes I wish I was one so I could fly with them. But that is a foolish wish. Wishing is foolish, no matter the wish. They are such peaceful beings, though.

You know, butterflies are not so different from Matrix and humans. You have the caterpillar, which is the human, and the Matrix is the cocoon. It protects and nurtures the humans into butterflies, but most of the humans stay in their cocoon. Others, we call them the Rebels, pop out of their cocoons. The Rebels are not pretty, like the butterflies, however. So one might call me a butterfly collector, for I chase the Rebels and catch them.

I am not sure whether that is a correct analogy, but I heard something like that told to me once. The humans and machines, joined together would something wonderful, I think it was. Oh well. There is one other object I love as much as butterflies in this forest. It is a clump of rose bushes. Some roses are pink, some are white. There are some I've seen that are black as well. I think those colors are fine, but there is one that makes me the most pleased. Roses colored red, a deep dark red. The color of wine, the color of blood. I have seen enough blood in my life, or a life that is not life, however.

I do love these roses and butterflies, though I know things cannot stay the same. It is odd for me to love such things, even though my love is not love, cannot be love. I just say that.

I have taken a rose and tucked it into my jacket. The thorns do not sting me, for they cannot sting when I cannot feel.

Though I do wish sometimes I could... but wishing is foolish.


	7. Little Girl

She wore a white dress, the little girl. Her hair was in blonde ringlets and her eyes were sparkling blue. She wore a smile upon her face, her peach-colored face with the rosy cheeks. She was one of the most beautiful little children one might see. People knew that she would probably grow up and be an even more beautiful woman. Some might think that she would grow up and marry a handsome man and have beautiful children, but most did not want to think that. Such innocence, it should not be spoiled.

The child deserved angel wings for how beautiful she was. Long ago, there were statues of cherubs that she resembled.

And at that age, she was oblivious to how horrible the world was. But there were people years older than her that were still oblivious to it.

She walked along the streets, holding a small, slightly withered bouquet of daisies and baby's breath in her tiny hands. People on the streets would smile as she passed, some would whisper, "Oh isn't that just the sweetest little sight you've ever seen?" And the girl kept a smile upon her face, and she kept walking.

Up ahead, there was an Agent bullying a man. She could see him. Of course, everyone could see them, but only a few could see what they did. There was a gunshot, and the man fell to the ground, blood smeared on the wall behind him. The girl stared in wonder.

The Agent turned to her, his sunglasses glinting in the light. "What are you doing here?" He asked sternly. His gun was shiny and drawn towards her. The girl was unaware that this Agent could kill her in an instant. He did not want to be bothered with her, he really didn't. He could be rinsed of her completely if he just pulled the trigger.

With her angelic aura, she lifted the bouquet of flowers up to his chin, where she could reach. He wasn't used to flowers at all. The girl said in a soft voice, "Here you go, sir. I picked these. I think you should have them." The Agent did not say anything. He hesitated, and then he reached out and took the bouquet from her. He did not know what to do except say, "Thank you." The little girl turned away and began skipping down the street away from him, humming a little tune.

And the Agent just stood there, holding the flowers.


	8. Agent Johnson

What is love? I must ask. I wonder what love is, because I don't know if I have ever felt it. Of course, I do not feel emotion. I am Agent Johnson, perhaps filled with emotion but not knowing since I have been brought up to have none.

It is very confusing to me. I have mixed up thoughts and feelings which I know are not my own.

I once thought I loved a woman. She had auburn hair and eyes like crystal. I thought she was very beautiful, although beauty should not matter to Agents, supposedly. I had seen her before she had been freed from the Matrix. She didn't know who I was. I admired her, though. I do believe her name was Anne.

Years later, I saw Anne again, but I knew situations were different because she was a Rebel. I was sent to kill her, but I met her gaze and I knew I just couldn't. She was trapped, and I had averted my weapon silently and intentionally. She ran away, she escaped. I got hell for letting her go. Even though I said it was an accident, none of the others believed me.

I met Anne again another time, and it was just the two of us, one on one. Again, I was supposed to murder her. We exchanged a few words. She asked me why I had let her go before, and I told her that I just did not know. She thanked me, though. She was very grateful I had spared her life, though I bet she was suspicious somehow. Before she ran off, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I had never felt something like a kiss before.

There were a few times that I encountered Anne in the Matrix, and it was always the same story: I had to kill her, but some power within me just would not let me. We never could talk that long. She once asked me to take off my sunglasses so she could see my eyes. I did it just to please her. I always tried my best to please her.

The last time we met, she asked me, "Do you love me?" And I did not know how to answer that because love is a foreign thing. I didn't answer. She told me that she loved me, and that if I wasn't an Agent, she would want to be with me forever. I didn't know how to feel about that. Anne had put me in an awkward place.

I never saw Anne again. She probably perished, or she just never came around anymore. It made me feel a little – oh how do you say? – _Sad_ that she was gone.

I know how to answer her question, though.

I think I loved her.

Maybe that what was keeping me from killing her mercilessly all the times I could I have.

No, I _know_ I loved her.


	9. Agent Smith

You know who I am. You know what I did. You know, you know.

I know what I am. I know what I have done. I know, yes. I do.

I bring a feeling of fear to people. Why? Because I am not human. My name is said in a hushed whisper.

However, there was him, Mr. Anderson. The humans referred to him as "Neo," or "the One" – their messiah. I remember before then, he was just another one plugged into the Matrix, content, not a worry. But then he was contacted and I had to deal with him. I killed him. I helped put bullets into his body. And I watched as he fell to the ground, then I watched him rise again, as normal as ever. He went inside me, broke me apart. But I came back; no one could take me down. He left some of his code in me, changed me and made me an immortal, so to speak. I was pleased with that, but there was still the issue at hand. I had not killed Mr. Anderson.

We had many battles before, and they never really had a conclusion because neither side really fell. Well, until that night.

I still remember every detail. The coded rain pouring down, the dark, gray, dismal streets, lined with my replicas. I had made thousands of them. I was vain, I suppose. I was so full of myself for them. They looked, talked, acted like me – my puppets. But they weren't me. I believed I was the superior program, and maybe I was. Not even a replica could compete.

"Mr. Anderson," I said. "Welcome back. We missed you. You like what I've done with the place?"

He said, "It ends tonight."

I replied, "I know it does - I've seen it. That's why the rest of me is just going to enjoy the show - we already know that I'm the one that beats you."

And so it commenced. Kick, punch, throw, fly. We were evenly matched, my equal, I admit it. There were no advantages. It was a war of attrition, really.

We made a crater in the earth. He lay there in the mud, and I stood over him, hoping that he would finally be vanquished. I spoke.

"Wait... I've seen this. This is it, this is the end. Yes, you were laying right there, just like that, and I... I... I stand here, right here, I'm... I'm supposed to say something. I say... Everything that has a beginning has an end, Neo."

But like before, he got back up again. He had not lost the will to fight.

"What? What did I just say? No... No, this isn't right, this can't be right. Get away from me!" I yelled.

"What are you afraid of?"

"It's a trick!" I knew it had to be, that it could not be true. And then he said something I had been saying all along.

"You were right, Smith. You were always right. It was inevitable."

We joined together. His code and my code mixed. He became another copy of me. And in fear, I said, "Is it over?"

He nodded. He just nodded. He had a smile on his face that told me it would be all right.

And then he was destroyed. And with that, I went too. We had destroyed each other. A great legacy that would be told for later ages, and maybe it would repeat again, although events as such should never be repeated. I am only in spirit now, although I never really had a living soul.

I know what I am, I know what I have done. I know, I know, yes, I do.

You know who I am. You know what I did, you know, you know.

Mr. Anderson will never be forgotten, and neither will I.


End file.
